


The rest of the days

by MADR1D1SMO



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Suffers, Falling In Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Unrequited Love, fernando suffers, i - the translator - suffer bc english is lacking some very basic words wtf, if you were confused, iker suffers, sergio suffers, the readers suffer, this is seriker btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MADR1D1SMO/pseuds/MADR1D1SMO
Summary: “Because when he’s in front of Fernando, Sergio looks like a child in front of a Christmas tree, amazed by the lights and the gifts, convinced that the tales are real and that all of his dreams can come true. Iker, too, would like to be Sergio’s Christmas sooner or later, but for now he’s okay with just being the rest of the days.”-This is a translation, I don’t own the fic. The original is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/647715If you like the fic, please make sure to give kudos to the rightful author))





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Tutti gli altri giorni](https://archiveofourown.org/works/647715) by [blackvirgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackvirgo/pseuds/blackvirgo). 



> i read every existing seriker fic in english so now i switched to italian and spanish, hehe  
> also just a heads up bc i was confused when i first read it: this is happening in multiple timelines simultaneously. there’s a main one: “an evening at the end of June, 2012” and sometimes there are flashbacks to 2007, 2008, 2010 etc  
> enjoy, cheers!

**An evening at the end of June, 2012**

 

“What are you doing here?”

Sergio is looking out of the window of Iker’s room, hands tucked deep into his pockets. “Xabi gave me his key.” He turns around slowly, he was waiting for this moment.

Iker frowns and takes a long moment to study him: his figure is hidden by the shadows, and for the first time in many years, Iker can’t manage to understand what’s going on inside his head. There’s only one thing he knows for sure: Sergio isn’t supposed to be here, not right now. He steps closer, feeling troubled, and places a hand on his shoulder. “What happened, Sergio?”

The defender rests his head on the captain’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist. “Can I stay?”

Iker wants to be happy about his presence, but instead he’s just worried. The silence and the darkness is so unlike Sergio. And his presence here and at this particular moment is even more unlike him. He runs a hand through his hair and then lower, along his back, and pulls him closer. It always feels nice to have his body close. “Like always.”

 

**Summer 2007**

 

Iker starts getting worried when, by the end of the vacations, Sergio hasn’t replied to any of his messages and calls.  _ He’s still in Andalusia _ , he thinks at first,  _ maybe he has better things to do _ . But just disappearing isn’t like Sergio. On the third day he leaves him three voicemails. He tries asking other teammates, but none of them know what happened with Sergio either. They make plans to go out together, those who are already back, ahead of the trainings that are about to begin soon. They meet up at nine, at the same place, but there isn’t even the slightest hint of Sergio, who’s usually the center of attention at these events; and Iker feels stupid that he has this bad feeling about it, but he doesn’t know what else to call the sensation he feels inside.

The next day, late in the morning, Iker personally goes to Sergio’s house. It’s all close,  _ maybe he’s not back yet _ , but Iker keeps ringing the bell repeatedly because even a good night’s sleep hasn’t managed to get rid of his worries. No answer. He’s about to go away when he runs into Mrs. Caterina.

It’s a woman in her sixties, with a lot of white hair and a curvy figure, Caterina, and she takes care of Sergio’s house from the day he first arrived to Madrid: she cleans the house about two or three times a week, and often fills his fridge with some special treats. Iker isn’t sure what kind of relation of friendship or family connects her to Sergio’s mother, but he knows that over the years Caterina developed a very deep affection to the defender.

Iker greets her warmly and asks how her summer went. Then he finally asks the question that really interests him: “Is Sergio home?”

Mrs. Caterina sighs at the mention of his name “It’s been at least ten days now that he doesn’t let me go in to clean up. Who knows what state the house will be in!” She shakes her head and her tone is full of concern.  _ Who knows what state he will be in!  _ She loves him, but she’s not his mom and it’s not her place to scold and lecture him.

“Can you let me in?”

Mrs. Caterina thinks it over for a moment and then nods. Maybe what señor Ramos needs right now is only a good, clear-headed friend who will knock some sense into him.

 

When Iker enters the house, it seems like a group of vandals decided to have a party in there. Everything is dark and the air around him is heavy. “Sergio?” No reply. Iker continues calling his name and opens the windows in all the rooms before reaching the bedroom.

Sergio and the blankets form a bundle on the bed. The defender is deep asleep, one of his arms hanging down from the bed, touching the floor. Iker sighs: his feeling, unfortunately, was not unfounded. He opens the windows and the louvers to let some light and fresh air come in. Sergio pulls an arm over his eyes and groans. It takes him a while to open an eye and realise that the room isn’t as dark as it was when he went to sleep. He pulls the corner of the bed sheet over his head and turns over to the other side.

Iker picks up a pair of boxers from the bed with his index and middle finger, throws them to the floor and sits down next to him. He places a hand on his shoulder and shakes him gently. “Lemme sleep,” Sergio grumbles.

Iker looks around: the garbage of an entire bar at the end of an evening doesn't contain as much empty bottles as this room. There is crumpled clothes everywhere, dust, and a not exactly pleasant smell. Sergio’s always been messy, but this is too much even for him. Iker decides that, whatever happened to Sergio, he needs a more energetic treatment. He grabs the sheets with both hands and yanks them away forcefully. “Are you just going to keep rotting in there or will you finally get up and make yourself look human again?”

“Leave me alone.” Sergio doesn’t speak: he growls. With a jump he’s on top of Iker, making him lose his balance and fall onto the bed. The defender, however, is unable to keep his own balance and drops down onto him. “Iker?”

The goalkeeper smiles. “At least you recognise me.” He pushes the other off slowly and returns to a sitting position. “I started doubting it.”

Sergio opens and closes his eyes a few times until the focus returns to his sight. He brings a hand to his face to escape the awful light that makes his head hurt. He wants to sleep.

“Get up, come on,” Iker prompts him. He’s worried: Sergio always pays so much attention to looks, to fashion, he’s almost obsessed with his appearance. But now it seems like it’s been days since he last took a shower. He grabs the boxers he’s thrown onto the floor a while ago and throws them in Sergio’s direction. “Go take a shower,” he orders “and I’ll see if there’s still something edible in your kitchen. I’ll be waiting for you there.” He stands up and goes out of the room.

Sergio spreads his arms across the bed. Reality hits him again all at once with a violence that leaves him stunned. He doesn’t have any desire to get up, he just wants to go back to sleep and maybe stay like that forever.

Iker’s head appears in the doorway again “You know what happens when I have to repeat things twice, right?”

Sergio forces himself to open his eyes. He sits up on the bed and waits until the room stops spinning before getting on his feet and obeying.

 

When he arrives in the kitchen Iker is busy at the stove. The scent hanging in the air is undeniably good, but Sergio still has nausea so he can’t fully appreciate it. He sits down at the table, hair wet and a small cut on his chin that won’t stop bleeding. It was probably better to leave the beard shaving for later.

Iker places a plate with omelette and ham and a cup of coffee in front of him. “If you’re good and eat all of it, you can have these.” He says teasingly, waving a bottle of aspirin tablets.

Sergio’s lips curl up in a smile: once again, he can’t help but obey.

 

-

 

Sergio met Iker during his first call-up to the first team. Mere months later they became teammates in Madrid as well. He’s practically a kid, Sergio, and even though Iker is only a few years older, he’s already a team veteran. It’s easy to become friends with Iker: he’s an easygoing dude, as serious on the pitch as he’s cheerful of it. He’s the kind his mother would be calm seeing him hang out with, because he has the aura of a good guy, the down-to-earth type. And Iker is just like that, somebody you can trust, both on and off the pitch. Sergio always trusted Iker. They formed a bond very fast, but neither to Iker, nor to anyone else, has he ever told his complicated love story.

And yet, he’s the only one he lets near him in this period, the only one whose company he doesn’t avoid.

It makes Iker sick to see Sergio like this. He seems a different person: he’s indifferent, apathetic, avoids people and company. Only on the pitch he comes back to life, playing with such anger and intensity that at times it results in fouling his own teammates. It earns him a lot of scolding and sometimes he has to stop and do running laps around the pitch that are supposed to be a punishment, but the defender doesn’t mind wearing himself out with exertion. He falls asleep before the evening, if he’s tired.

And in this period of time, Sergio kind of hates himself for being like this, unable to take things easy, unable to not live so intensely he ends up burning himself every time. There was a moment during which he thought that even football would not have been able to keep him afloat. But it was Iker who put him back together. He’s worse than his mom: he makes sure he eats regularly, that he doesn’t go wandering around god knows where, he comes to pick him up so he doesn’t skip training, he opens the door for him and prepares the bed at the guest room each time he doesn’t feel like being alone.

 

One evening he arrives with his eyes so red and lucid that at first when Iker opens the door he thinks he’s drunk. He’s about to start lecturing him as usual when Sergio rests his head on his shoulder and starts sobbing like a child. Iker can do nothing but hug him tight and let him take it all out.

 

“I fell for him the first time I saw him. It was like getting a punch in the stomach and a hit in the head at the same time: I was so stunned I couldn’t understand shit. But I was sure that he was special and that he had to be mine.” Sergio’s eyes are dreamy and Iker smiles when he sees him soften. Then almost falls over laughing when the defender launches into a detailed description of all the creative ways he came up with to get noticed by and conquer El Niño. It took a whole year, twenty long months of nonstop courting, eased by Sergio’s transfer to Real.

“Who’s Juliet and who’s Romeo?” Iker jokes, referring to the fact that at the time they played for the two rival clubs of the capital, amazed by Sergio’s unexpected romanticism, so invested in his teenage adventures it almost feels like he’s lived through them together with him. Sergio responds by making a face and elbowing him in the ribs. He lies down on his stomach on the carpet and smiles because those memories are like a breath of fresh air.

“It was a hell of a task, Iker, you can’t even imagine.” He bites his lip, satisfied, his arms crossed under his head. “But in the end I did it, he had to give in.”

“Well, who could resists such…”  _ devotion? _ Iker swallows “...stubbornness?”

“It was like heaven on earth, Iker,” Sergio continues, his gaze lost in the ceiling. “Have you ever loved someone so much you started considering them an inseparable part of you?”

Iker tilts his head and his smile becomes sad, but Sergio doesn’t notice it. The defender’s smile, as well, lost its previous luminosity. Because as happy as they are, they are still just memories and they belong in the past that won’t ever return. Because that happiness was taken away by Fernando when he left to Liverpool and the only thing Sergio was left with is a lost heaven made of nostalgia, wishes and stolen moments.

 

-

 

Sergio never forgave Fernando for leaving to Liverpool. They spent two magnificent years in Madrid together, hiding behind a deep friendship that let them freely enjoy everything else. Then Fernando left. All of Fernando’s efforts to convince him that it was not a goodbye were fruitless, Sergio opposed him with a silence Fernando didn’t know how to respond to. He left as soon as La Liga ended and none of Fernando’s attempts to trace him had any success: from phone calls and emails to physical visits. He even tried asking his teammates, those he knew more or less, but nothing: Sergio seemed to disappear. Before leaving to England, he goes to Sergio’s house for the umpteenth time. He opens the door with his key, but Sergio’s apartment is empty. He looks around all the rooms of the house and the memories of everything they’ve lived through between those four walls hit him with a violence that makes him sick. He misses Sergio so much it physically hurts and for a brief moment he wonders if he really has to leave. But it’s already too late to change his mind and, moreover, he  _ wants _ to go to Liverpool. He can’t give up on his dreams, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, Liverpool isn’t on the other side of the planet - one or two hours by plane and they’re together. But those explanation have done nothing but irritate Sergio even further.

Fernando spins the keychain around his finger and thinks that he should return it, because if Sergio doesn’t want to see him anymore he won’t need them. But when he closes the door, he places them back into his pocket instead. It’s not a goodbye, he still loves him. “He loves me too,” he whispers to himself. “He’ll come back to me.”

 

-

 

Fernando tries to approach him during the international break in September and October, but to no avail. Sergio is still angry with him and yet, he looks at him with eyes so full of longing it makes Fernando wonder how he manages to reject all of his approaches. He doesn’t even speak to him at all. Fernando accepts it as the hardest of punishments, because if this is what he has to endure for him to come back, then so be it. But in November it’s all still the same. Only that they play in Madrid, in their Madrid, and there Sergio can’t stay indifferent, not when Fernando goes to find him in his apartment and forces him to spit out all of his anger, his bitterness, his pain; and stands through it all with coldness that he probably learned in England, because he never had it before. Fernando doesn’t think he deserves all the things Sergio tells him, but neither does Sergio deserve to suffer this much. It’s only when they’re both left only with their own tears that Fernando gains the courage to bring his hands to Sergio’s face and kiss him. Sergio responds with a passion that leaves him breathless. They get undressed on their way to the bed, stumbling over their clothes and their intertwined limbs, because now that they’ve found each other again they can’t separate. They make love, and they do it with a rage that leaves countless marks on their bodies, they do it in a way that makes their heads spin, that drains all of their energies.

And in the end, when Fernando places his head on his chest and feels Sergio’s hands caress his back, Fernando knows that he still loves him and that he’s finally back.

  
  


**An evening at the end of June, 2012**

 

They’re lying on the bed and the dark is wrapped around them like a blanket. Sergio’s rolled onto his side, resting his head on Iker’s shoulder, who hasn’t wasted a second running his fingers through his hair and over his back. The defender finally seems less tense, but he’s definitely not quite at peace yet. Something really serious must’ve happened, Iker knows it. It isn’t normal that Sergio is here with him and not with his adored Fernando. He doesn’t dare to ask him why: he’s afraid of imagining something more severe than what it really is. And the defender isn’t made for silences, when he has something to say he just blurts it out, with no filters or pretty words, even when he should do so.

“Every time I come to you, you’re always here.” It’s a whisper, a simple fact.

Iker smiles: “What else am I supposed to do?” He’s accepted the one-sidedness of his love a long time ago, the waiting, the hoping that in the end Sergio will return to him. He accepted the bitter taste of being the eternal lover, the second choice, but sometimes he gives in to the fear that maybe one day he won’t return. And those are very harsh moments that Iker would die to not experience again. It was Xabi who found him during one of those moments, during international break, and Iker told him everything. About how he fell in love with Sergio’s love for Fernando, with its purity, with its intensity. About those emotions that burn inside Sergio like a fire, that consume him but at the same time give him energy. Until he finally realised that that fire  _ is  _ Sergio. And Iker is a moth, so stupidly attracted to the flame that he burns himself by staying close. By completely losing his way, forgetting any survival instinct.

From then Xabi always made sure to never leave him alone in those moments, neither during international break, nor when Fernando  - every once in awhile - returns to Madrid. This way Iker manages to not think about himself and simply be happy for Sergio. He arrived to such level of masochism that he’s truly happy only when he sees his eyes shine and his voice lighting with enthusiasm from the mere presence of Fernando. Because when he’s in front of Fernando, Sergio looks like a child in front of a Christmas tree, amazed by the lights and the gifts, convinced that the tales are real and that all of his dreams can come true. Iker, too, would like to be Sergio’s  _ Christmas _ sooner or later, but for now he’s okay with just being  _ the rest of the days _ .

  
  


**August 2008**

 

Sergio never managed to fully find a reason to Fernando’s transfer. He’s the kind that reasons with his heart, Sergio, and his love for the forward wasn’t just a superficial feeling caused by missing or resenting. He’s in Liverpool, but he’s  _ his  _ Fernando and that’s enough. What isn’t enough is the little time they have to be together. He touches the sky with his fingers when he’s with him, forgetting about the rest of the world, only to later drop back to earth without a parachute to slow the fall. What he really can’t put up with is the pain that hits him each time he leaves. Sergio never responds to any  _ goodbye _ Fernando whispers him when he goes back to Liverpool. Not a single motive is big enough for him to justify Fernando’s departure.

When he stays alone he takes the first bottle that gets under his hand and downs it all at once. That evening, though, the alcohol didn’t soothe the pain, didn’t make him fall asleep like an idiot on the kitchen table. It showed him how absolutely pathetic he became.

He’s gone out into the streets and his legs automatically covered the considerable distance between his house and Iker’s. He rings the bell in the middle of the night and has to wait a while for Iker to come down and open the door for him.

He’s all dishevelled, the goalkeeper, he must’ve been sleeping. But he doesn’t even try to lecture or scold him for waking him up. Sergio doesn’t tell him anything, but Iker can sense the state he is in and decides to go easy on him for once. He leads him across the guestroom - that has become Sergio’s room by now - and sits next to him on the bed.

“I need a shower.” The defender has his head between his hands.

“The bathroom is there, the towels you know where.” Iker realises that it came out harsher than he wanted to. He rubs his hand over his eyes because it’s late and he was sleeping, and he’s really tired but he wants to be there for Sergio if he needs him. He passes a hand through Sergio’s tangled hair and pulls his head to rest on his shoulder.

“He’s getting married. Hear that?” Sergio’s eyes are lucid, hands clutching his knees. “He’s getting married.” Sergio turns his head. “He told me just before returning to Liverpool, the bastard.” He rolls onto his side and curls up on himself, letting the tears stream down his face again, accompanied by the sobs that make his heart and breath’s rhythm uneven. Iker turns around to make room for him and wraps his arms around his head and chest and caresses him slowly, murmuring words Sergio doesn’t quite catch into his ear.

Sergio completely lets himself go because each time Iker welcomes him, and takes care of him and makes him feel better. He doesn’t care if he seems fragile, weak or even just stupid. He rests his head in the hollow of his neck and grips his shoulders so hard it hurts, until the tears finally stop and he becomes aware of the fact that Iker’s shirt is completely soaked and he almost scratched his neck.

Sergio raises his gaze and runs his finger over the red marks his grip left. “Did I hurt you?”

Iker shakes his head and presses a kiss to his head. His smile is tight because seeing Sergio like this hurts him so much and just fact of being able to make him feel better is worth any kind of physical pain.

Sergio studies him, his eyes still wet. Then he places a hand over his eyes to block his sight, leans a bit closer and brushes his lips against Iker’s. It’s more of a caress than a kiss, but it cuts Iker’s breath off and makes his heart beat a mile a minute.

Sergio gets filled with a strange kind of sadness. “Why can’t I fall in love with someone like you?”

 

-

 

Sergio keeps hoping Fernando won’t get married until the last minute. He has nothing against the marriage or against Olalla. He knows that the two of them know each other from childhood and that they’ve been together ever since they were teens, but for Sergio the role of a lover is too tight. They’ve never been an official couple, but he was always sure that the two of them - Sergio and Fernando - were the  _ real _ couple. But the news about Fernando’s marriage made all of his certainty crumble down.

The evening before the night they ended up in bed together. “Don’t go,” Sergio asks until the last instant, but Fernando shakes his head. He even goes as far as threaten to tell Olalla about everything. Fernando goes pale: his life would shatter, he would be left with nothing. Olalla would kill him and if she wouldn’t, then it would be the parents, both her and his. Fernando pleads and begs Sergio not to do something like that to him because he loves both and doesn’t want to lose them, he needs both of them for his life to be complete. “You can’t doubt my love for you,” he tells him, but Sergio still does. He doesn’t believe it’s possible to love two people at the same time and moreover, Fernando is about to marry Olalla. But his hands make him loosen up, his caresses make his anger melt and his lips make any of his desires to revenge collapse. Fernando offers him his body in such an unconditional way it makes Sergio go crazy because in this moment he can dominate him, can decide how and what to do to him and Fernando leaves it up to him to decide for them both.

And in the end they find themselves on their knees one in front of the other, watching the other crying, painfully aware of the fact that they should change too many things because they could be together  _ for real _ . And the first thing would be Fernando with his dreams of a perfect family - a wife and two kids, ideally a boy and a girl -, a perfect career and to stay El Niño forever. But his love for Sergio just doesn’t fit into that picture, maybe he can hide it behind the curtains, but he surely can’t show it to the entire world. And yet, he can’t give it up as well because without Sergio he wouldn’t be Fernando. And Sergio told countless times that he, without Fernando, would be nothing.

And with this Fernando leaves and Sergio lets him leave for the umpteenth time, knowing very well that everything will change but nothing will change.

 

-

 

“I made up my mind,” Sergio tells him one day. He’s sitting next to him on the bench in the dressing room, already all dressed up, while Iker is drying his hair after the shower. His tone is unusually serious and Iker, hands and towel still on his head, turns to look at him with concern.

Sergio stretches his arms forward and grins. He seems cheerful, he seems more like the Sergio from before. “I want to start living again, Iker. Go out, have fun, bang someone new every night.” He sighs. “I can’t just forget Fernando and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. Each time I see him it’s like the first time: I fell in love with him and I have no idea why. This time, too, he returned and I can’t resist him, he makes me go crazy. He’s… perfect. He’s everything I want but will never have. But he has his life and I want to stop living waiting for the moment I see him again just to fall into a darker depression after that. I mean, I’ll still do it,” they both smile at that, “but in the meantime I want to live for myself.”

Formally everything he said is right, but Iker feels like something about it is off. It’s good that Sergio will stop waiting for Fernando, but not wanting to drop this whole story altogether means that in reality, nothing will change. He puts the towel down and pulls his phone out of his bag.  _ In any case, it’s a step forward to regaining himself. _

The next day, after they finish with training he places a small package into his bag. “Open it at home,” he whispers.

“But it’s not my birthday.”

Iker shrugs. “Let’s say it’s a gift for the beginning of your  _ new  _ life.”

Sergio doesn’t wait until he gets home to open it. He puts it into the pocket of his sweatshirt and the moment he’s inside his car he takes it out and turns it over in his hands a couple of times with a stupid smile on his lips. He always liked receiving gifts. When he tears off the wrapping paper his smile turns into a laugh: a box of condoms. Such an Iker gift.

  
  


**An evening at the end of June, 2012**

 

“You could tell me to fuck off, for example.”

Iker can feel Sergio smiling against his neck.

“And why should I do it?”

“That’s what I would do in your place.”

Iker’s smile widens until it turns into a laugh: Sergio is infamous for the number of people he tells off with a consistent regularity. “I don’t think so.” He stopped trying to tell Sergio a long time ago that if he was him, we would’ve already told Fernando to fuck off and go to hell, but maybe what made him think so is the desire to have Sergio all to himself. Because he’s just Iker and the only thing he can do is wait - hope - that Sergio, each time, will come back to him.

“Why?”

This question feels very wrong and unnecessary, at least to Iker. It would require such a complicated answer -  _ because i love you, you idiot  _ \- that it seems almost banal. And maybe it’s capable of ruining everything all at once. He inhales deeply and puts on his captain voice. “Why are you here, Sergio?”

The defender props himself up on his elbows and lets out a long sigh. “Because it’s the only place where I want to be.”

Iker sits up so fast Sergio is lucky he didn’t fly off the bed. He opens and closes his eyes a couple of times to put the words he just heard into focus while his heartbeat returns to normal, after stopping for what seems like eternity.

“Sergio?” Iker calls his name to get back his attention.

“Everything changed, Iker,” murmurs Sergio.

“What changed?”

“Us.”

“You and Fernando?”

Sergio doesn’t respond and spreads his arms to make room for Iker. It’s not like him to remain silent, especially with Iker with whom he always talks about everything. But this situation messed him up deeply: all the things he had changed and now he’s afraid of losing everything. He came to Iker searching for the best friend, not the lover, but he isn’t able to separate these two things and he’s asking himself when was the last time he did. He hides between his arms because it’s a safe and beautiful place and Iker has never sent him away. Sergio isn’t good with words at certain moments. He gets carried away by the excitement, the passion or the anger and often exaggerates. With Fernando he fought and made up this way hundreds of times, but this time he offered nothing but silence even to him. To Iker, on the contrary, he has so many things to say, but doesn’t know neither where nor how to start. Those things need to be said quietly, treated with gentleness, and he isn’t capable of that. So he remains silent and hopes that Iker understands, but maybe expecting him to understand everything by himself again is too much this time.

  
  


**March 2010**

 

They won the match against Atlético. It’s not the same as winning El Clásico, but the feeling of winning it comes very close. Nobody is thinking about anything other than partying, celebrating and getting drunk as much as possible: they have the next day off to get back to themselves and after that return to training and start thinking about the next match. But for now they’re allowed to forget about it and get lost in the high of the win.

Iker gets more tipsy than he usually does: he drank half as much as Sergio, but still somehow manages to trip over the table the Andalusian is currently improvising a flamenco dance on. He finds a chair blindly and flops on top of it, continuing to stare at the show.

This evening it’s Sergio the one who accompanies Iker back to his house. Iker fell asleep in the car and Sergio thinks that for once, he should return the favor and let his friend stay at his place. But his bed in Iker’s house is definitely already done, while he won’t even know where to find sheets for the beds in his guestroom.

He parks the car in front of the garage and Iker jerks away, startled.

“Where are we?” He asks, confused.

Sergio laughs. “At your house.”

“God, I really did have a bit too much..”

They get out of the car and Sergio runs over to catch Iker before he falls and smashes his head on the fence of the garden. He wraps an arm around his shoulders to support him and, laughing, they arrive to the door.

“The keys, champion!”

Iker starts searching through his pockets but he’s completely wasted. Strangely enough, it really amuses him and he starts laughing loudly, his legs not supporting him anymore and Sergio, infected by the same laughter, has to hug him to his chest to avoid both of them falling to the ground.

By the time Iker calms down the only thing keeping him on his feet is Sergio’s arms around him and he doesn’t remember what they were doing, what he’s supposed to be doing. The defender starts going through all of his pockets in an attempt to find the keys from the house. Maybe it’s the intoxication of the alcohol, or the euphoria of the win, but Sergio suddenly realises that his hands are searching his shirt now, even though it has no pockets. He wonders when the hell Iker became this damn attractive and goes back to trying to find the keys because it’s cold outside and they’re both half drunk and he really wants to sleep. In the end he finds them in an inside pocket that he completely ignored previously.

Iker lets Sergio guide him inside. “The last time you slept here you kissed me.” It’s a whisper that comes from beneath his ear. Sergio feels a shiver run down his spine. It wasn’t the last time, Sergio thinks, but if Iker remembers it this well, it means that it was important. He turns around to look at Iker: his eyes are closed and he’s smiling. He lowers his head and nudges his lips with his own lightly. “Like this?”

Iker nods and tries to find his lips again. Sergio doesn’t pull away: he brushes his lips against the other’s again, this time for longer, opens them and finds his mouth. Iker goes along with it, teasing him, catches his tongue between his teeth and plays with it. Sergio wants more of it. He grasps the nape of his neck and deepens the kiss, discovers that he likes the taste. He thinks he’s finally realised what’s real, when it’s not masked by the sangria and whatever else he drank. Using his other hand he lowers himself down until he’s sitting and pulls him closer because he wants to feel his body and wants to free it from the clothes on it. And he likes the grasp of Iker’s hands, so firm at his sides, so secure. They pull away from each other to take a breath and Iker places his hands on Sergio’s chest and takes a step back. “We’re too old for this bullshit, Sergio. If we want to do this let’s wait until we’re sober. I don’t want to blame it on the alcohol later.” He stumbles in the direction of the kitchen to get a glass of water, leaving Sergio motionless at the entrance. It takes the defender a while to decide what to do: whether to respect his wish and go away or follow his arousal.

 

Iker is sitting at the kitchen table, a half empty glass of water in front of him. He’s holding it in his hands and there must be something very special about it because he looks hypnotised. Sergio takes another glass and fills it with fresh water from the fridge. He empties it with one long gulp and puts it in the sink. Since Iker always make sure to keep everything in order, when he comes over, he tries to behave appropriately. His intuition tells him that if he tried to jump him right now he won’t resist, he didn’t imagine his arousal earlier. But it’s Iker, not someone else. So, when he sees that the keeper’s eyes are closing from exhaustion, he slips an arm behind his shoulders once more and accompanies him to the bedroom on the second floor. He helps him undress, then undresses himself and lies down beside him. Iker falls asleep immediately while Sergio runs his fingers over his chest, deep in thought. Then the sleepiness catches up to him as well.

 

In the morning Iker wakes up with a horrible headache and Sergio’s arm across his chest. He sits up so fast the defender wakes up with a start.

“What’s up?” Sergio slurs, rubbing his eyes. He’s always slow to react in the morning.

“What happened?” Iker is worried.

Sergio laughs: it could turn out to be really fun to mess with Iker a little bit. He moves closer and, just like the evening before, places one hand on the nape of his neck. He brushes their lips together lightly and waits for Iker to allow him to continue. He loves it more than he can describe, the way Iker parts his lips slightly and starts responding to the kiss, pulling him closer. Sergio leans in more and runs his other hand over his chest, his arms, his waist, hesitating a bit when he reaches the groin.

Iker moans and throws his head back. Sergio uses this chance to kiss his neck, biting softly on the skin there. “Yesterday we stopped at the kiss,” he whispers, bringing his mouth to his ear. “Are you still drunk, by any chance?”

Iker shakes his head and captures his lips in another kiss.

  
  


**A few days before an evening at the end of June, 2012**

 

The five blancos arrive late to the hotel, that evening, and Fernando is already waiting for them in the hall. Sergio knows that he returned a day earlier to spend more time with his parents. When the forward approaches him, after greeting everyone else, he places an electronic card in his hand. It’s the key for his room. Sergio stares at it dumbly and then looks for Iker with his gaze. Fernando pulls him by the sleeve and Sergio follows him. He wants to at least greet Iker, but the keeper is busy with the registration of the documents at the reception and doesn’t see him walking away with Fernando.

They make love that night, but Fernando can feel that something about Sergio is different. He doesn’t touch him in that way that makes him feel precious, doesn’t kiss him like he can finally breathe again. But when he asks him - “Something wrong, Sergio?” - the defender mumbles something incoherent and then looks away.

 

“What would you do in my place?” Sergio knows that Xabi is aware of the situation and he’s positively the only person he could receive objective advice from.

Xabi has a sly smirk on his lips. “I wouldn’t find myself in your place.”

“But if, at this exact moment, you were in my place, what would you do?” insists the other.

Xabi is sitting with his knees pressed to Sergio’s feet while the latter is doing a set of crunches. “If I was in your place I would’ve already kicked Fernando’s ass a long time ago. And if I was in Iker’s place, I would’ve kicked yours as well.”

“And what did I do to deserve Iker’s kicks?” Sergio asks with surprise in his voice and Xabi urges him to continue the workout. He’s speechless, he didn’t expect such slowness from him: does he really not realise what he’s doing to Iker? Judging by the defender’s shocked expression, Xabi guesses that no, he won’t get it by himself. And he doesn’t have to interfere, nor give him an earful, because that he promised to leave to Iker. It’s okay this way, the goalkeeper told him, even if Xabi doesn’t manage to understand how anything in this whole story can be okay.

“Listen to me, Sergio,” Xabi tells him while they’re switching positions. “You’re the kind of guy who thinks with the heart when everything is good and with the arse when everything is bad, but your head isn’t there just to separate the ears. Use your brain for once.”

  
  


**An evening at the end of June, 2012**

 

Iker’s been hugging Sergio for what seems like infinity. At a certain point he asks himself if he fell asleep, but then he feels him moving. The regulated breaths he felt on his neck until now turn into a kiss and then a lot of kisses that move to his lower jaw and then up until they reach his mouth. Iker lets his body stretch out across the bed like the first time because Sergio hypnotises him, destroys any rationality within him, brings out instincts he didn’t know he had in him before he met him, but he’s glad he discovered them. But he can’t relax this time, Iker, there’s something wrong. Because in his dreams Sergio is always supposed to be here, with him, but in reality he isn’t supposed to be here. He stops him when his hands get underneath his shirt to take it off. He grabs his wrists and his grasp is firm and stable, unlike the thoughts running through his head. “No, Sergio.” Iker wheezes because there isn’t enough air and he already misses his hands on him. He takes a couple of deep breaths and looks up to meet the other’s eyes in the dark. “Why are you here?”

Sergio sits up on his heels and averts his eyes, looking downwards. He releases his wrists from Iker’s grasp and lets his arms drop at his sides. “You don’t want me?”

Iker sighs. “That’s not it and you know it.”  _ I’ve never wanted anything else. _

“Then what is it?”

“Why are you here, Sergio?” He didn’t really need much of an answer to begin with, but Sergio is looking at him like he doesn’t understand the question.

Iker sits up and raises Sergio’s chin so he will meet his gaze, not without sweetness. And speaks, for the first time, without holding back. “I’ve never wanted anything else, Sergio. I’ve never desired anything but for you to be with me all the time. But there’s Fernando in your life so I’m okay with stepping aside each time he returns so I won’t lose you.” Sergio raises his eyes and looks at him like what he’s saying is extremely bizarre, absolutely unexpected. Iker goes on: now that he’s finally started he can’t stop. “If that’s what it takes to have you, Sergio, then it’s okay, even if it hurts, you can’t even imagine how much. But it’s Fernando in the other room, Sergio. Fer-nan-do. And you’re with me. And I’m scared, you understand? I’m fucking scared to think that things actually changed and that I come before him. But if it’s true then I won’t be able to go back anymore and I won’t be able to see you together anymore. You understand me, Sergio? Have you ever loved someone so much you started considering them an inseparable part of you?” Iker lowers his head, defeated. In the end he didn’t manage neither to step aside like he wanted to, nor to win his love. “I don’t want to lose you, Sergio.”

 

-

 

When Xabi enters the room, Fernando is looking outside of the window. His forehead is pressed against the glass and he squeezes his eyes shut as soon as he hears the door close. The moment of truth has arrived, all he needs to do is turn his head around and see who came in. He isn’t sure he wants to know, but he can’t put off the moment much longer. He’s been waiting for it for days, since the day Sergio told him he’s been seeing someone else and Fernando almost tripped over the pants he’s been putting on. They’ve just finished making love and Sergio was lying on the bed, clumsily covered by a blanket, hugging his knees with his arms. Fernando, though, had a plane to catch. Now, as then, he felt like he just swallowed an ice cube and now he’s choking on it, suffocating. He felt betrayed, but  aware of the fact that he had no right to feel so. He wanted to ask him why, but the answer would be so obvious it would not be worth the question.  _ Do i know him _ ?, was the only thing he managed to say because even the silence sounded terribly wrong. But Sergio just leaned his forehead against the window without answering. So Fernando finished getting dressed and left. Sergio has never responded to any of his goodbyes, but this time there was no  _ goodbye  _ to respond to.

 

Fernando opens his eyes and turns around. For a moment he hopes that it’s Sergio, that he changed his mind and came back to him. That what he told him previously - “It’s over, Nando. I was in love with you, for real, but now it’s over. I have to think about myself. And I have to think about the person I love now.” - was just one of his impulses caused by anger or sadness that he tended to blurt out a lot during the past years. Only that Sergio was neither hurt nor angry that evening, just sad. Sad and relieved.

Fernando shakes his head when he sees Xabi. “Iker,” he murmurs. An irrational part of his mind tells him that he should’ve seen it coming. “It’s Iker.” he repeats. And now an even more irrational part of him feels a raging anger inside, he doesn’t know when exactly it was born but he knows that it’s been inside him for very long time already.

Xabi bites on his lip and waits, calmly, for the storm to clear.  _ What the hell did I do to end up in the middle of this mess? _ , he asks himself, the question being rhetorical, because he knows the answer very well: it’s the friendship he has with all three of them.

Fernando walks up towards him, looking as if he’s getting ready for war. “You knew it, right?” He points an accusing finger at his chest.

Xabi nods. He discovered a lot about his three friends during this love triangle of theirs: he would never believe Iker to be this self-destructive, Sergio this slow, and Fernando this immature.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Xabi places a hand on Fernando’s, making him lower it. “It wasn’t me who was supposed to do it.”

“I thought you were my friend.” Fernando presses his lips together so tightly they become white, averting his gaze to the floor, arms at his sides. He looks terribly similar to his son.

“And I am, Nando.” Xabi frowns. “But I’m also Sergio’s and Iker’s friend, and I found myself stuck in a not exactly pleasant position between the three of you.” Practically in the middle of a cross fire.

Fernando raises his head: his eyes are shiny and his cheeks are red. “This time I really lost him. I didn’t think he would ever leave me.”

Xabi rolls his eyes.

“I love him, Xabi! And he always said that he loves me too! We were together for seven years! I’ve been going crazy from the mere thought of him having someone else, I couldn’t live with that. And then when he told me he was seeing somebody..” Fernando sighs and he strides back toward the window. He looks outside for a moment, then turns around back to Xabi. “He always came back to me. Every time.” He leans against the window and closes his eyes, all of his energy draining out of his body. “Every time,” he murmurs again. He opens his eyes and a tear slowly escapes his eye and rolls down his cheek. Fernando wipes the tear away with the back of his hand. “And now he won’t come back anymore…”

Seeing Fernando like this makes Xabi’s heart clench. He knows him for years, they’re teammates in the national team and then they were also club teammates when he came to Liverpool, but he still doesn’t manage to fully sympathize with him because in his opinion, he’s done everything he could to dig his own grave with his own two hands. He doesn’t have much advice to offer: Xabi learned that when you find yourself up against a wall there’s only one thing you can do. Take your elbows and feet and use them as a trampoline to restart.

He walks over to Fernando and places his hands on his shoulders. He waits for the forward to look him in the eyes and  _ god, how sad they are!  _ But pity won’t help him right now. “You kept Sergio tied to you for years even though you knew very well it couldn’t go on like that. He always waited for you, Nando. He hoped you would come back for… how long you said? Seven years. First with desperation, then with whoever he stumbled upon, and then with Iker. You can’t blame him.”

“And how did Iker end up in there?”

“He collected and put back the pieces that were left of Sergio when you left to Liverpool, and then when you told him you’re getting married and all the other times when he needed him. Then he fell in love with him and he waited for Sergio just like Sergio waited for you. For the sake of not losing Sergio, he stepped aside each time you came back, and did it so well you didn’t even realise there was anything going on between them.”

“What am I supposed to do then? Congratulate them?”

Xabi shakes his head. “Grow up, Nando. You have a wife and two kids. Do it for them as well.”

Fernando sniffles quietly and nods. Then he moves away, takes his jacket, his phone and goes out of the room.

 

-

 

Sergio has never seen Iker this fragile before. It’s actually kind of endearing, in a way, and it makes his heart clench. He smiles and caresses his face with the back of his hand, from the chin to the cheekbone. Then he opens his hand, wraps it around his head and pulls it closer to rest on his shoulder. He hopes to give him some of the security he always provided him with, with this gesture that became so common between the two of them.

“You can’t lose me, Iker.” He runs his fingers through his hair gently and tightens the embrace. “I won’t let it happen.” Iker’s breath hitches. Sergio’s smile widens and he lifts the other’s head. “I don’t want to lose you either.” He nudges the other’s lips with his own and presses their foreheads together. “I love you, Iker.”

Iker can feel his heart missing a beat and then starting to beat so fast he can feel it all the way up in his throat. He looks at Sergio as if he’s a dream too good to be true, opens and closes his mouth a few times to say something, but the words don’t come out. Maybe he really is dreaming. But Sergio’s hands are so warm and real around his face and his lips are so soft and passionate that it simply can’t not be real. Iker loses himself in his kisses, in his passion, in his sweet, tight embrace.

 

Now it’s Iker’s turn to have Sergio on his chest, to ruffle his hair and caress his back. Sergio responds by running his hand over his chest. He still can’t believe it, it seems too beautiful to be true. He’s so happy it seems like he’s not lying but floating, immune to the force of gravity.

Sergio followed Xabi’s advice: he’s the only one who’s able to give him the answers he was searching for. Normally he would talk about it with Iker, but he realised that at the moment Iker himself needed answers and not even more doubts. “When I told you that we changed, I meant me and you.” Iker stops stroking his back and turns his head to look at the defender. “I don’t know when I fell in love with you, but at a certain point it must’ve happened because I’ve never been as sure of loving you as now.” With Fernando it was like an electric shock: he died and then was reborn at one moment and everything changed irreversibly. Iker, on the contrary, was careful, delicate, but not any less disastrous. He was afraid of getting lost in the important parts of this story, become fixated like he’s been with Fernando. Even when he and Iker ended up in bed together, Sergio was convinced that he was doing it out of sheer curiosity, that it was just sex without feelings. But then the thought of Iker became more and more constant. It’s not disturbing like the thought of Fernando, it never gave him that tightness in his stomach made of pain and pleasure, just like their whole relationship. With Iker he feels warmth instead, like a flame in his chest that starts at his heart and then spreads out through the whole body until it lights up a smile.

Sergio knows that it’s unfair to compare them because they’re different and the relationship he has with them is different and both of them changed his life in their own way. He’s aware of the fact that the way he treated Iker was awfully similar to the way Fernando treated him. He assigned him the role of the lover and at the same time, by having him stay in that position, made it impossible for him to be happy with someone else. “I was such a dick for everything I put you through every time I returned to Fernando.” It’s barely a whisper and Iker feels tears stinging his eyes. “When I started going out again, party and pick someone new every evening, well, with each of them I still thought about Fernando. You were the only one with who I didn’t: when we stayed together it was just the two of us, nobody else. But I was blind enough to ignore the fact that you started being more often on my mind until Fernando stopped being an obsession and became just a memory.” A beautiful one, but still just a memory.

Sergio props himself up on his hands. “The problem with the whole Fernando story is that it never changed. We always were in love the way we were at the beginning, but while we grew up and changed, our feelings didn’t. But now it doesn’t matter anymore. You and me, slowly slowly, became something else, Iker. I don’t know either when things changed, I have no idea when exactly I fell for you, but now I understand that I want only you.” Sergio leans down to steal another kiss. “We broke up once and for all. If you want it, I want to be with you for real. And if you don’t I’ll do everything to win you over. Nothing else should come between us.” And now he has the absolute certainty of loving Iker, exactly like the one he had for so many years with Fernando.

Iker pulls him closer, hugs him and gets back to kissing him with passion. “I’ve never wanted anything else.”

 

-

 

It’s official, they’re together. There were some embarrassing moments with Fernando. It was Xabi who talked some sense into him: he forced all three of them to sit at the same table with him - breakfast, lunch and dinner of every single day of that international break - keeping everyone else at distance with meaningful glances. He has a good intuition, Xabi, but it’s a good thing he chose the career of a footballer and not a psychologist. He doesn’t lead people to their own conclusions, but offers them to people already packed because  _ he  _ knows that it’s the right one. He said: “Now talk about it like adults.”

During the first meal they ate together Xabi just sat there and ate, suddenly very interested in some Spanish news site on his phone. The other three ate without raising their eyes from their plates.

Then things started becoming better. Partly because Sergio is incapable to shut up and not give a headache to the people around him, partly because Iker is the captain and for him team bonding is as normal as breathing, and partly because Fernando understood that, as proud as he is of his sons, they won’t return the feeling as much if they found out that he’s been acting like them. One punch, one smile and one glance was enough for everything to go back to normal.

Fernando didn’t congratulate them and Sergio continues to charm him like he always did. But he has to admit that he’s never seen him so calm. He’s always with Iker and he looks at him like he’s the best gift he’s ever received. And he’s happy seeing him like this, even if he’s not the reason to it.

Iker, on the contrary, became more distracted: he has his head in the clouds and it seems like he’s always walking a few meters above the ground. Sergio laughs when he sees him like this, wraps a hand around his shoulders and makes fun of him. Maybe his gaze changed as well, but to Iker it doesn’t matter anymore. One day he wanted to be his  _ Christmas _ , but to have him it was enough being just  _ the rest of the days _ .

Now there’s no different anymore: for Sergio, Iker is  _ all of the days _ .

**Author's Note:**

> listen, dude. this fucking fanfic killed me. i hate angst so much, why am i doing this to myself


End file.
